The Feline Approach to Brian Kinney
by Brynneth
Summary: Justin thinks Brian needs a cat. Brian doesn't agree. A story exploring the changes in the B/J relationship over the years.


_This story can be read alone, although the last two scenes indirectly refer to my other QAF fic, _One Heartbeat Away. _If you're curious what happened between those scenes, go there, but it's not necessary. Also, I did not use a beta for this, so all mistakes are mine._

_I'm dedicating this story to Randy Harrison. (Yes, I know he will never read it, but that's fine!) I got the idea from reading somewhere that he likes cats and actually has two . . . or did. Also, his character, Justin, really seemed to like Ethan's cat.  
_

"You need a pet."

"Excuse me?" Brian turns his head to glare at the boy lying next to him. They are sharing a joint, of excellent quality of course, and Brian wonders if the kid is stoned after only two drags.

Justin turns on his side and props himself on a skinny elbow. His pale skin nearly glows in the blue light from the fixture over Brian's bed. It's been ten minutes, and he's already half-hard again. Maybe that's why Brian keeps bringing him home, because he's always ready, utterly compliant, and very responsive.

"A pet. Don't you get lonely here all by yourself?"

Brian coughs, practically choking on the joint. "What, are you kidding me? I'm an adult, kiddo. Adults have no problem loving alone."

The boy is as persistent in words as he is in stalking Brian. "Oh, come on. A pet is a healthy thing to have. Lowers your stress, gives you comfort, provides you with a constant friend."

"I don't need a ball of fur for companionship." Brian exhales forcefully in Justin's face. The kid blinks but doesn't retreat. He never retreats.

"I've always wanted a cat, but my parents wouldn't let me get one. My mom is obsessed with keeping a tidy house. Says she doesn't want to clean up cat hair all the time."

"Your mom is a very smart woman."

Brian turns the joint around, placing the burning end between his teeth and shotgunning into the kid's mouth. He watches as Justin breathes it in, eyes half-closed. The pot ramps up Justin's arousal, as it always does, and he slides down to take Brian's cock between his lips for the second time that night. Never say Brian doesn't give credit where credit is due: the boy is _exceptional_ at giving blowjobs.

He couldn't be alone if he tried. Who needed a cat when he had Justin following him everywhere?

* * *

Brian stares at the mess on his new duvet, thinking at first that Justin must be going bald with that much hair falling out. Oh, wait. He leans closer, wrinkling his nose.

"Justin!"

"Yeah?"

The kid is in the shower, washing the smoke and booze odor of Babylon from his skin. He's picky about going to bed clean; but then, Brian's trained him well. They had gone to the club straight from Brian's office after consummating their reunification. After a few hours of dancing and teasing each other with the lewdest kisses they can invent, Brian decided a quick fuck in the back room was simply not going to be enough.

"Is this . . . _dog hair_?" He can't think of anyone Justin knows who has a dog.

"Uh, cat hair. Sorry."

"And who has a cat?"

The silence is uncomfortably long, and Brian realizes that Justin isn't going to answer. Shedding his clothes, Brian enters the bathroom and steps into the stall, eyeing the streams of water coursing down Justin's body.

"Whose cat?" He whispers this right in Justin's ear, enjoying the rise of goose bumps on the boy's arms.

"Um, you didn't want me to ever mention his name again."

Brian moves closer, crowding Justin toward the wall. "Ian?" The brat was right. He didn't want to hear it _ever_, not even from his own lips.

"That's not his name, and you know it. Anyway, he had a cat who loved burrowing into my clothes when I brought them back from the laundromat."

"Well, it's getting on my _bed_." Brian takes the soap from Justin and begins washing his back. "I expect you to rewash your clothes and get rid of all the cat hair."

"The funny thing is I miss that cat way more than I miss . . . ." Brian turns him around, pinning him against the wall. "Uh. You-know-who."

Brian looms over him, pressing his forehead to Justin's. His eyes drift down as he lightly brushes his lips over Justin's jaw. "If you say his name, I will walk right out of here and leave this impressive erection of yours unattended." Just to clarify his words, he trails the tip of his finger up the length of Justin's cock, and the kid understands _completely_.

"No problem," he murmurs and drops immediately to the floor at Brian's feet, where Brian has dreamed of him being for months. Not that he will ever admit it.

* * *

He won't say how much he likes the chicken soup, because that would be the same as saying he likes Justin being here. No need to encourage him by telling him just how much each touch means, when Brian can't even bear to touch himself. The cancer has warped him, filled him with a poison that causes his body to wither, and he cannot stand how the others look at him with pity. Brian Kinney doesn't need pity . . . or them. After all, he always lands on top, and he will again. Just as soon as he finishes radiation treatment.

Justin, at least, knows better. He doesn't coddle, and he doesn't take Brian's shit. It's almost funny, the way he orders Brian around, aggressive when he's always been passive. Brian kind of likes this side of Justin, admires his balls, not that he will ever tell Justin that. The man doesn't need to a reason to be more cocky.

Brian's lying on the sofa, wearing only a t-shirt and jeans, with his bare feet propped on the arm while Justin finishes the dishes. His stomach is being agreeable tonight, sleeping instead of erupting repeatedly and wringing Brian of every last drop of dignity. He thinks he might be able to hold down the chicken and rice casserole Justin cooked, which would be a nice change.

"I'd feel better if you weren't here alone while I'm working."

Justin pokes his head over the back of the couch, leaning on his forearms. His hair is growing out nicely, and Brian feels certain it's now long enough for him to wrap his fingers in it. Then again, the short locks make his eyes look even bigger, more beautiful than Brian can ever remember.

"I'm fine. You're already here too much as it is."

"It's not fun to be alone when you're sick."

"It's not fun to be sick, period." Brian scowls at nothing in particular.

"A cat would make a really nice companion. Doesn't need much attention except for feeding it and changing the litter. Let it curl up to you, all nice and warm. . . ."

Brian reaches up to tug on Justin's shirt. "I'd rather have you curl up next to me. Why are we discussing a cat?"

Justin shrugged. "Just an idea. Pets are supposed to be great companions for sick people. They love you unconditionally and ask for nothing but the chance to cuddle with you.

_Now who does that remind me of? _Brian pushes away the thought as soon as it surfaces. This wasn't love; it was an arrangement, a partnership that benefitted both of them. If Justin felt differently, well that was Justin. Brian Kinney didn't need love.

"I'll tell you what." He reaches up and yanks Justin on top of him with a strength that surprises even him. "I'll let _you_ cuddle with me. Unconditionally."

Justin laughs, settling himself alongside him on the crowded sofa, his arms wrapped around Brian's waist. His head rests on Brian's shoulder, and Brian breathes deeply of his clean scent. Forget the chicken soup and the other comfort food Justin serves him. The only thing he really needs is right here.

* * *

_I know how much you hate pets, but you should seriously consider getting one to keep you company while I'm gone. A dog would be a pain with having to walk it all the time, but a cat would work well with your lifestyle. Wouldn't it be nice to have a warm body in your bed? Oh wait, you never lack a warm body!_

Ha ha. Brian grimaces as he deletes the email from Justin. What is it with him and cats? Or the constant worry that Brian might feel alone? You would think after these past five years, Justin would realize that Brian doesn't need companionship to survive. And no, he never lacks a warm body, but he never lets anyone spend the night.

He closes the laptop, leaving the email unanswered. Justin has only been gone for two weeks, but it feels like a year. He phones, texts, or emails every day from New York, messages full of excitement. He's getting settled, making contacts, and looking for a job to pay the bills while he struggles to make a name for himself. Brian doesn't insult him by offering money; he understands pride all too well.

He knows Justin misses him. It's in the spaces between his words, in the catch of his voice when he says goodbye. Brian prays to the God he doesn't believe in that Justin doesn't hear the catch in his. The boy has become a man, and the man deserves his shot at glory. Brian has never harbored any doubt that Justin will achieve his dream, but that dream is still fragile, a slender twig easily broken. Only one thing can stop it, and Brian won't let it happen.

He walks over to the kitchen counter, picking up the airline tickets he bought two days ago. It is dated for this weekend, a round trip departing on Friday and returning on Monday. He hadn't told Justin, had meant for it to be a surprise. He can see Justin's smile already, bright and strong when he sees Brian at his door. If Brian closes his eyes, he can go even further: taste Justin's skin, feel his legs around Brian's waist, hear his moans muffled by the pillow. But he also sees something else, a loneliness that's certain to intensify when Brian returns to Pittsburgh.

Justin is still young, still fresh with ideas and ideals, and still fervent in his belief that love comes first. Whenever Brian has pulled away, Justin has always pushed back, sweeping everything else aside in his desire to hold on to Brian. If he feels Brian slipping away, he will return to Pittsburgh and forego his career for the sake of love and foolish sentiment. Brian will not allow this.

He carries the tickets to his desk and turns on the paper shredder. He hesitates, the memory of Justin's joyful smile and his warm laugh almost too much to bear. Then he shoves the tickets forcefully into the shredder, watches as threads of paper curl into the basket below. Except it doesn't feel like paper. It feels like the remains of his heart.

The bed is cold, despite the plushness of the duvet, and Brian spends a long time lying in it, smoking until the air is a dense smog. He doesn't reach for his pot, wants nothing to dim the pain, because this is his penance. He knows he is doing what is best for Justin's career, freeing his lover of the chains binding him to Pittsburgh, and Brian Kinney doesn't do guilt. He takes the pain head-on, lets it rip him apart, and when the dawn comes, he puts himself back together, a broken man but a man nonetheless.

The next time Justin calls, he doesn't answer.

* * *

The shag rug in his loft caresses Brian's bare skin, and he revels in the softness, stretching his arms and legs as far as they will go. His body feels wonderfully replete, sated in a way only sex can bring, and the past two hours were exceptional as sexual encounters go. And he should know because, hell, he's Brian Kinney.

For the past eleven years, he has lived as a shadow of himself, although he didn't know it. Then the sun returned, bringing a new life with it. He has learned to not take this for granted, for it could have easily fallen the other way, into the dark. Perhaps he paid his dues, and God took pity on Pittsburgh's most successful fag, or maybe karma decided he had bled enough. Whichever it was, he knows better than to throw a gift away.

Silky fur caresses his side, and he flinches as warm paws leap on his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs. Damn cat. Brian swears she loves pouncing on his chest just to remind him who's really boss. The Siamese blinks lazily at Brian's frown, and then curls into a ball of complete hauteur. She neither needs Brian's acceptance, nor wants it . . . she does exactly as she pleases.

Brian can only laugh. _She may be a cat, but she's got Kinney blood._ He rubs behind the cat's ears, smiling at the contented purr. _Yeah, you and me both. _Life was good.

Her owner appears, still damp from his shower, tiny rivulets of water trickling down his neck from the mop of wet hair. No longer a boy, he's still utterly beautiful.

"Seriously? You're letting Henrietta rule the roost? The great Brian Kinney has been topped by a cat!" Justin grins at the two of them.

Brian narrows his eyes and grabbing Justin's wrist, he yanks the other man down to the rug beside him. Henrietta merely rocks with the motion, refusing to budge from her perch.

"Your cat needs to learn who the boss is around here."

Justin smiles, swinging his leg over Brian's and reaching out to stroke Henrietta. "Well, that wouldn't be you." He nips at Brian's shoulder, a teasing bite that shoots straight to Brian's groin.

"That's not what you said thirty minutes ago," he growls.

Brian buries his fingers in Justin's wet hair, pulling him back so Brian can see his face. Every time he sees those eyes looking into his, he thinks he may still be dreaming, locked into the prison of guilt he built for himself. He needs this, this closeness that reminds him constantly that Justin is here. He's home.

Justin runs a finger over Brian's lips knowingly, also aware that their being here is a gift, but he knew it long before Brian. "I love you."

He would have scoffed at those words a lifetime ago. Not anymore. But Brian Kinney has to be . . . Brian Kinney.

"So does your cat."

Their laughter shakes Henrietta from her roost, and she jumps to the sofa, seeking a quieter place. As she drifts off to sleep, her humans celebrate their newfound life and understanding, but she can't be bothered to watch.


End file.
